Second Movement: Death

DC: I don't own Twilight

Esme pulled her hair back over her shoulders, carefully leaning down over her papers. These papers were very badly written, but she had to laugh to herself as one of her students commented on how big she was getting. It was hard times, but teaching her seven-year-old grade school students brought in what little money could be brought in. She marked the paper, and then set her pen down. Her bulging belly twitched as the baby kicked.

It had been a long eight months. Esme hated thinking about her estranged husband; but when her mind wasn't occupied it floated to the fact that her unborn child might have had to live with such an abusive soul. She still felt the hits and bruises and the frightful nights in that place. The thought alone almost made her sick until she remembered that those events were the only reason she was going to have a family. She finally had something to look forward to and someone to love. Her hands rest gently on her stomach, her lips forming into their own smile. The baby would be here soon enough and she could be even happier.

She carefully moved herself from the desk and went into the kitchen. It was a very little kitchen, having only one chair and a very small table. She didn't mind it all that much, since she didn't have too many guests. It was a very quiet house. Her neighbors left her be, thinking that she was still in mourning over the death of her husband in the war. She smiled at the lie, allowing the peace to fall for her and her baby.

She reached into her icebox, pulling out the last of her milk, and set herself down at the table. She folded her dress around her and quietly drank her cup.

Just as she finished and was going to set the empty milk bottle on her outside steps, there was a knock on her front door. She put on her best indifferent look, and answered the door. There stood a lady, but not just any lady. She was Esme's only really good friend in Ashland, having helped Esme get a job and help her on her feet the first few months she was here. "Oh look at you dear!" the woman said cheerfully patting her rounded belly. "That baby ready to come yet?"

Esme just smiled weakly, shaking her head slowly. She stepped aside letting the older lady come through the door. "Oh getting all set up for the baby to come?" She said, spotting Esme's cradle in the corner of the room. "Well, I've got just the thing for this cradle. I've got some old blankets that'll be perfect for it."

"Really, Mrs. Evans, I don't need much—"

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Evans turned to Esme. "I haven't had little children in my own house for years. There is no need for me to keep all these baby things when you, my dear, need them more."

Esme felt the little guilt flutter in her chest, but solemnly nodded her head. The baby kicked again, a little harder. She rested a hand on the top and followed Mrs. Evans to couch in her living room. "All your little grade school children," she mused to herself. "They're not giving you a hard time are they, Esme?" she asked turning to the younger woman.

"No," Esme replied, feeling another kick. "They're fine, just fine."

Mrs. Evans went on talking about life outside of Esme's home, while Esme felt kick after kick. Esme tried crossing her ankles, kicking them every few moments and breathed deeply but the kicks didn't cease. Finally she stood up, a little wobbly on her feet.

"Esme are you okay?" Mrs. Evans was up with her, concern creased in the wrinkles on her face. "You look a little shaky."

"I'm okay. Just going to freshen up."

Esme remembered taking a step forward, almost falling on her face. The desk she graded her papers on saved her fall. She heard Mrs. Evans gasp and say a few words, but Esme didn't comprehend any of it. She saw the older lady leave, but concentrated on the pains that came in waves. "The baby is just coming in earlier. Get a hold on yourself dear." A tear slipped from her eyes as another gasped clenched at her throat.

Her vision blurred with on coming tears as Mrs. Evans came through the front door, hand over her chest, a doctor behind her. Esme held onto the corner of the desk harder, breathing heavier. It was time. She smiled at the fact that her family was coming even sooner than she thought.

----

Something was wrong. The baby was very still in his bed, moving only slightly with every shaky breath. Esme let her caramel tangled hair fall around her face, as she bent down to give her son a light kiss on the forehead. His light green, tired eyes fell on her, and Esme could help but to let out a sob.

He's not going to die. The words formed into her head, chanting into her conscious. He's tough, like me. I won't let him go.

The doctors noticed, a few hours after the birth of her son, that he had trouble breathing. They said it could go away, but there was a chance the infection won't leave his lungs and he could pass on.

They tried to say it as lightly as they could, but when she heard the news her heart dropped and a huge weight leaned onto her shoulders. The first night she cried. She couldn't stop. The tears rolled out of her eyes and her throat closed from the hard sobs. She woke up that next morning and was determined to keep her spirit up for her baby.

She looked down at her son in the crib. The hospital was trying its best to do anything they could. A little IV was stuck in his little arm, liquid dripping slowly.

"Mrs. Platt." Esme wasn't accustomed to the use her old surname, and jumped a little at the sound of it. She wiped at her eyes before turning to the voice. "Please, this way. You'll have to rest."

"No. I need to watch him. He's going to live." Esme's knuckles were white from the grip she had on the small cradle. "Please…"

"I'm sorry. You need to leave. He's very sick and we need more testing. A good rest will do you some good, and then you can come back."

Esme let her grip go with a sudden tremble. She let go with the thought that she would be around the corner, waiting. The doctor took her by the shoulder and guided her out of the intensive care and back to her room. She found her bed, curling up in the rough sheets and itchy cover. Her mind wandered to her baby in the room down the hall. He was going to make it, she said to herself. Her eye lids drooped. Soon she was drifting into a restless sleep.

----

There was a lot of talk. Esme felt her eye lids flutter open. It was dark inside of the hospital room. The corners of the room looked very uninviting, the dark shadows reaching across, as if they were reaching to get her. She rubbed her eyes, finding the lamp that sat next to her. The light flickered on, though the shadows just grew.

A doctor found his way into the room. Esme frowned, setting her bare feet on the cold floor. The doctor gave her a forlorn smile.

"No." Esme whispered.

"Mrs. Platt, please understand we did our best, but…"

"I want my baby." Esme got on her feet. "Where is he? I want him now!"

"Understand that…"

Esme shook her head, the dark curls whipping her face. She wasn't going to let him finish. Her deep green eyes pierced his. He swallowed, Esme finding him to look uneasy. Good, she thought viciously. Maybe he'll stop lying to me.

The doctor laid a hand on her shoulder, trying to push her down. Esme shrugged off the hand, pushing past him and leaving the room. "Mrs. Platt!"

Esme felt her feet move faster with every moment. Soon she was skidding to a halt outside the window of the intensive care unit. The cradle was empty. She searched the room, her eyes not stopping and looking at every detail. "Where is my baby?" she choked out.

"Mrs. Platt." The doctor was back. She turned to him, her eyes full of anger.

"You took him away? Is he better? Tell me!"

The doctor held up hands. "I'm sorry! He's gone. We weren't…we weren't able to save—"

Esme hit the window with her hand, waking several other babies on the other side. A few cried out. Her mouth opened but she couldn't get the words out. Instead, she kept hitting the window until several nurses came and grabbed her hands. They were trying to tell her that she was waking all of the patients up, but she didn't care. She wanted her son; her little boy.

"Why are you taking him away?" she sobbed. She twitched her arms, but they wouldn't let her go. She sank into the floor, letting her legs drop her weight and the nurses call for more help. "You want me to be miserable? I've lost everything…please don't take him away!" Esme looked into the faces around her, desperate for answers, good answers; that they were just kidding; but the doctors just took her back to her room. She lay back down staring at the wall until the light started to drift through the window, chasing the shadows back into their corners.

Her heart broke right then. Just only two days after her baby was born, his life was gone. She wrapped her arms around her and tucked her head into the pillow. Tears streamed silently out of her eyes as she wailed into the rough support. She shook and trembled and hiccuped. She wouldn't stop, not even when the doctors brought her in breakfast. She wouldn't look up. She didn't touch her food. The misery washed through her, sucking up the rest of her energy.

Her last point in her will to live left her as the sun rose over the sky. She felt lifeless as the doctors signed her release the next day, and she walked out of the hospital a broken woman.

She walked from the little hospital in Ashland, to the cliff that sat gloomily over the town.

---

Hello, Lala Rue here. Kind of a sad chapter. But it's the truth.

This chapter bothered me so I had to rewrite it. I like it better now, though it is still sad. For some reason I've been having doubts about my writing, feeling like I'm not good enough. But I just realized that I'm just out of practice with college and all. I'll feel better eventually.

I'll update the last chapter when I write it! (Looks like I lied about getting this done before school. I have a week left.)

Love, Lala Rue!

(P.S. Want to know a random peice of information? I go to a the college Ashland University...just a little bit of my life and how it's the same name as the Ashland Esme lived in. Smile!)